Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, October 21, 1995 TAG: 9510230081
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-11 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KERMIT W. SALYER JR.
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
But money, or the making thereof, has done enough already to the state of education as it has evolved since that "little middle-class white boy" began the first grade more than 50 years ago.
During World War 1, it became obvious that, due to the change in the scale of warfare, it was necessary to process more fodder - er, soldiers - faster than ever before. As there was little need for differentiation of skills, early tests were sufficiently complex to tell whether a volunteer knew the proper end from which to fire his ordnance, and little more. When the war ended, for America nearly as soon as it began, the newborn mass-testing system was relegated to maintaining the portals of this country against only the most flagrantly defective of the spectrum of man.
It wasn't until the dawn of World War II, and realizing that the American war machine was woefully undermanned (again), that it became imperative to fill the ranks of the various branches of the armed forces with both the numbers of men and the skills they possessed to prosecute the war to victory.
Throughout the war, this testing system performed its job admirably, but with armistice, testers cast about for bigger game. And what better place to use the cookie-cutter approach to educational testing than in the mass-produced, cookie-cutter world of the suburb, on the soon-to-be exploding population of baby boomers.
After the first wedge was driven, salesmen got to work. It didn't take long to convince school districts that this was the answer. This was how to gauge every child by the same standard and to be assured, with a number, that every child got the education he or she was due. Unfortunately, while a child may be skilled in picking a correct answer from amid four fatuous ones, it doesn't mean he or she can think critically.
Textbook publishers today are struggling (though not financially) to present a dumbed-down version of the facts in strings of fractured syntax (one hesitates to call it prose) from which the student must endeavor to digest the requisite nutrients without experiencing the sensation of style.
When words are hammered together solely for content instead of blended smoothly from one to the next, pulling the reader along with their current, an aversion to reading is created in students that may last the rest of their lives. If required to write after high school, a student's attempt may read like a paragraph from the comprehension portion of the Scholastic Assessment Test, or worse, the Unabomber.
When people speak, they do so with proper punctuation. You can hear the commas, question marks, parenthetical asides; the skill appears innate. But when it comes to putting those words to paper, many haven't a clue how to begin because they haven't had sufficient exposure to the great works of the ages - or any works at all.
It should come as no surprise that the main reason the Amish speak in thees and thous is that if you're Amish and reading, it must be the Bible. This text has been the backbone of their educational system for several centuries. Though antiquated, it has served them well. And if a test were to be derived from it, doubtless they all would pass with superior scores.
Increased exposure to the written language could lead the way to better education. If students are thoughtfully guided to the best, most exhilarating works our literature has to offer, a fire might be lit in their souls that would kindle everlasting. They might enter college with the skills to write an essay on Charles Dickens or Toni Morrison, instead of "How I Spent My Summer Vacation.''
What to do? Read. Be seen reading by your children. Read, instead of pondering the quirks and motivations of the transvestite Nazi hookers on today's edition of ``Ricki Lake.'' On vacation, read a book that cannot be judged from its cover.
And give teachers the kind of help they need. When Johnny comes to school upset because dad finally came home but he's drinking again and mom's crying, then Johnny's chance to learn that day is shot, and the teacher must take on social work in addition to the typical tutoring duties.
Teachers are social workers of a sort, but their function in this regard should be to impress upon each new generation the great achievements of human societies of the past, as well as the potential of each and every student for the future. They cannot do this job alone. Nor will technology provide the necessary nostrum.
Computers have their place, and we should make sure every child has access to them as early as possible - and, through public libraries, access throughout their lives. But it would be nearly impossible to read "War and Peace" at a computer monitor. (And how do you explain that you fell asleep reading and broke your nose?)
Money set aside for computers might be better used in the early grades to train and hire certified teachers' aides to perform the more mundane tasks of the classroom (scissors-and-paste department) or to help lower the student-teacher ratio so that there's more individual contact time with each student.
There's great irony in the fact that the ancillary business of schooling (the layers of management, publishers, computer manufacturers, building contractors, test designers, etc. ) is where the real money is made, while those on the front lines are nickeled and dimed to distraction.
We cannot, a la Rousseau, tear it all down and start anew. It's too late for that. There are no easy answers, but a good place to start is with a book.
This winter (the season of indoor activities), while you pile the kids into the minivan for a trip to the video store, remember that you'll probably pass a public library along the way. You're probably overdue for a visit.
Stop by and check it out.
Kermit W. Salyer Jr. lives in Roanoke and is on the library staff at Virginia Western Community College.
by CNB